Perhaps
by Snickerer
Summary: Perhaps it might have been different. Oneshot, plus epilogue.
1. What might have been

Disclaimer: don't own the world, only this disturbing little scenario for it.

(sighs) Stupid plotbunnies.  
I _like_ the original series characters, humor, and character interaction.  
And so naturally they give me this depressing little X-series what-if, which is anything but.

I could have expanded this into a full story, added detail, etc.  
I didn't, partially because of lack of time and partially because I don't really _want_ to explore this possibility any farther.

_(Edited 1/06. As per my new policy, anonymous reviews get answered in my profile.)_

* * *

At Maverick Hunter HQ, little thought had ever been paid to cleaning up returning Hunters. The founders of the organization had obviously had more pressing concerns at the time, and there had never really been any reason to change the situation. The reploids returning from a mission usually needed to visit the infirmary for repairs anyway and were cleaned off as part of standard treatment, and the human Hunters tended to make their own shower arrangements.

No one had ever bothered with protocols for decontamination. Why bother?

Illness was the least of the hazards any human Hunter faced on a mission. It wasn't like humans could catch the Maverick Virus, and when a Maverick that outmassed you several times over was charging you with weapons drawn and out for blood, the _last_ thing you were worried about was catching the flu from it.

As for reploids, as long as they were clean of the Virus, there was little point. Since reploid interiors were by necessity closed systems, the common wisdom went, there wasn't much danger of pathogens entering from the outside. Even if some bacteria did find their way inside, reploid fluids were hardly hospitable to microorganisms. Besides, parts regularly had to be replaced, especially in the Hunters that saw the most combat, so there wouldn't be enough time for any life to get established. Not to mention that reploid Hunters were often sent into environments where humans could not go. What kind of bacteria could endure the plasma residue from heavy reploid-to-reploid combat, the sub-zero chill of the arctic, the toxic gases and heat of a volcano's interior, or the hard radiation and vacuum of space?

Perhaps they should have considered the answer to that question rather than dismissing it.

Perhaps they should have realized that more combat and more repairs also meant more breaches in sealed systems and more opportunities for contaminants to enter.

Perhaps when the oldest and greatest of the Hunters came into the infirmary with a malfunctioning arm, the technician should have paid more attention to replacing the clogged tube that proved to be the problem than to being star-struck at the chance to chat with the famous commander.

Perhaps the goo that had been clogging the tube should have been inspected.

Perhaps the tube shouldn't have been carelessly thrown on the pile of scrap parts in the corner and left in the open air.

Perhaps when that technician woke up the next day with a headache and sore throat, he should have had himself checked out instead of assuming he had a cold or the flu, calling in sick, and relaxing around the base.

Perhaps when he had a nasty, hacking cough the next day, and his friends, colleagues, and people who had just been to the infirmary began getting sore throats, it should have been reported.

Perhaps he should have realized something was seriously wrong before he started coughing blood.

Perhaps someone should have realized what was going on before that technician died and half the humans on the base were already sick.

Perhaps someone should have instituted a quarantine before countless Hunters had traveled in and out of the base, spreading the contagion throughout the cities of the world.

Perhaps if the details had been kept from Sigma the insane Maverick would not have thrown his head back and laughed long and loud at the delightful irony before issuing the fatal orders to his researchers that led to a new and far deadlier breed of Mavericks.

Perhaps if the world had not already been reeling from that first plague, it might have had a chance against Sigma's new minions, built on suborned production lines and designed specifically to spread not only terror and destruction but also the nastiest bioengineered pathogens Sigma's subordinates could devise, making initial survival of a Maverick attack meaningless and cementing the status of all reploids, Maverick, Hunter, or civilian, as potential deliberate or unwitting carriers of disease.

Perhaps if the humans closest to reploidkind hadn't been the hardest hit and the first to fall, the decimated survivors of the Biohazard Maverick attacks wouldn't have come to deem the name of the first reploid, their former savior, the worst curse of all.

Perhaps it wouldn't have helped.

* * *

Comments much appreciated. Criticism much needed.


	2. Epilogue

Disclaimer: same as previous.

This is PRIVATE's fault for making me wonder about what else _could_ still happen. Though the encouragement from Bobcat Moran and Lonely Light didn't hurt.

_(Edited 1/06. As per my new policy, anonymous reviews get answered in my profile.)_

* * *

The sun slanted low across the hilltop, silhouetting a lone figure seated on a boulder, staring out over the valley below. For a long while all was still except for the wind sighing through the cypresses.

Then the sound of hydraulics heralded the approach of another figure up the steep, rocky ridge, dislodging pebbles to go skittering down the slope. The first figure did not move, even as the second climbed past the sparse grove of twisted trees and came to a halt beside the rock.

There was silence for a few moments, until the new arrival was the first to speak.

"So this is where you've been hiding."

"I'm not hiding. I just…came here to think."

"...You like the view?"

"Tell me, what do you see down there?"

There was a pause. "Brown. Rocks. Bunch of hills on the other side. I guess it's nice if you're into that kind of thing."

The seated figure replied almost dreamily, gaze never wavering. "That used to be all farmland, you know. The valley bottom was one of the most fertile spots in this area. In the spring it looked like a light green mosaic, with stripes and patches of light and dark running up to the hills depending on what was planted. And in the summer it was all gold and green."

"…"

"And then some Maverick scientist had the bright idea that they should hit the humans' food supply in addition to the humans themselves, as if their custom bioengineered plagues weren't killing enough people already. So they whipped up some viruses that would devastate crops and sent some of the Biohazard-class Carriers through all the farming areas with them."

"Including here."

"Oh, yes. But of course they didn't feel like going halfway, so the viruses went after anything in the same genus as an edible plant. All the grasses, the wildflowers, and a lot of the trees. That's why it's mostly bare ground and rock now. Pretty much all that survived were a few of the cypresses up here. Not much can eat evergreens, so they didn't bother targeting them." The information was delivered in a flat, calm voice, barely a hint of bitterness detectable.

There was a pause before the seated figure spoke again.

"You shouldn't be associated with me any more than you are already, you know. The Hunters need to have at least one of their best still fighting."

"Hey, if one is good, two must be better."

"I'm _persona non grata_ everywhere in the world right now and you know it. The Hunters can't afford any more connection with me than they have already."

"Well, I'm none too grata myself ever since Sigma decided to go on all the public newsfeeds and tell everyone that I was the original source of the Maverick Virus."

"…_what?_"

"Don't act so shocked, you of all people had to have had some idea."

"But how could he get anyone to believe that?"

The standing figure gave a wry chuckle. "Uploading his own full-color, full-sound memory logs helped. They checked out as authentic, and I don't have any memories before waking up in the HQ infirmary, so…" A shrug.

The seated figure contemplated this for a few moments, then let out a short, bitter laugh.

"So we're a matched pair, aren't we? A couple of former saviors who turned out to be responsible for two of the most deadly diseases in humanity's history."

"Oh, by the way, they named that first plague after you, you know."

"You cannot be serious."

"No, it's true."

"…"

"Seriously."

"...and this is supposed to make me feel _better_?"

There was a space filled by the low wind.

"Well, you can't put genies back in their bottles. Same with diseases. All we can do now is try to make the best of the situation. You know, maybe make up for it a bit. Or at least make sure it's not as bad as it could have been."

"…"

"So. You coming, or what?"

"…You're going to go off and try by yourself whether I come or not, aren't you?"

"Yep."

There was another pause, and then a weary sigh. Then the first figure stood up, turning out to be slightly shorter than the newer arrival.

"I suppose I'd better come. Otherwise you'd probably just charge in with no plan whatsoever and get yourself scrapped."

The second figure's sharper silhouette turned to lead the way back down the ridge, away from the setting sun, voice floating back in the gathering gloom.

"You just keep telling yourself that, blueberry."

"Oh, for the– I've told you so many times not to call me that…!"

"Heh, that's more like it! I swear, pulling you out of your funks is _not_ in my job description. I suck at this philosophy stuff you keep dumping processor cycles on."

"Hey!"

A receding laugh was the only reply as the figure in the lead pelted down the slope.

"Why, you – get back here!"

The sounds of hydraulics and taunts faded away, leaving the barren valley still and silent in the dusk.

* * *

Comments much appreciated. Criticism much needed.


End file.
